


want not

by convexity



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Food Issues, M/M, Original Percival Graves is a Softie, Religious Guilt, ad he loves credence okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 19:59:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14528070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convexity/pseuds/convexity
Summary: Credence is too full to finish supper- a punishable offense in his experience. Graves doesn't think so.





	want not

Director Percival Graves eyed the boy at his table. In the soft light of the kitchen, his features looked fine as a nymph's, carved for sea or glen, not Manhattan apartments or the stiff lines of his modest clothes.

Credence was a labyrinth of mysteries to him. Graves was familiar with no-maj’s, as the boy had been raised, but not with the inner workings of the world Credence had known. Even most no-maj’s would not be, would shake their heads and use words like _cult, zealots_. If Credence truly didn't belong somewhere, it was among them. 

Credence had notions that Graves had no inkling of until they reared their heads, made themsevles plain. Most of these notions were learned, ingrained in him to be inalienable truths when in reality they were just extremist dogma.

The first time that they had sat down to eat together, Credence had bowed his head and folded his hands on the edge of the table without a thought. When Graves remained silent he’d glanced up through his lashes, blushed violently and set his hands in his lap. It hadn’t even occured to Credence. Of course Graves didn’t pray over meals.

“I’m sorry,” he’d apologized, clearly kicking himself for what he saw as a faux pas.

“No need,” Graves had smiled at him. “If you’d like to bless the meal, please, don’t stop on my account.”

Credence’s eyes flashed at his in surprise, but he shook his head. “No, Sir. It was just a…” He fumbled at his words.

“Habit.” Graves replied matter-of-factly. The boy nodded.

“No harm done.”

One night Credence took longer than usual to finish his meal. So had Graves - it was a rather large portion of meat and the roasted vegetables were filling as well, drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with rosemary. Graves tossed his cloth napkin down over his unfinished portion, leaned back and lit a cigarette.

Credence had been talking to him earlier in the meal. His polite, pragmatic answers came like fish to a lure when Graves prodded him with deliberately open-ended questions. He liked to listen to the boy, to get to know who he was underneath who he had been taught to be. He liked to think that they were beginning to form something that felt like friendship, or at least trust. But Credence had fallen silent a few minutes ago.

Graves dragged his cigarette, watched the boy over the glowing cherry. His face was unreadable, sharp angles and moonwhite planes. He pushed a pink-centered cut of meat around on the plate, took a bite that looked forced.

“Are you alright, Credence?”

The boy’s eyes flashed up to his, almost beseeching, then back down to his plate. “Yes, Mr Graves. I’m trying.”

Graves tread carefully, sensing this was one of those instances where he had no knowledge of the waters he was wading into.

“Trying what?” He asked cavalierly, crossing one leg over the other. 

"To finish.” Credence answered, like it was obvious.

Gaves narrowed his eyes. “Are you full?” 

Credence nodded miserably, like it was a failing. “I’m sorry. I can finish.”

“Merlin’s beard, Credence, whatever for?”

Credence looked across the table at Graves, frozen. _The boy doesn’t know what you want,_ Graves reminded himself. _Set him straight, throw him a bone._

“If you’re full, stop eating.” He clarified. Credence set down his fork, looked ashamed.

“Don’t force yourself, sweetheart.” Graves said gently. “Look,” he gestured to his own pushed-aside plate. “I didn’t finish either.”

Credence glanced at the plate, and then back to Graves. He seemed to be searching his eyes for intent, as Graves had learned the boy was wont to do.

“Waste not want not.” Credence mumbled, the phrase stiff and mechanical.

Graves nodded. “A prudent maxim. But if you are already full, is it not also waste to keep eating?”

Credence thought over this for a moment. His dark eyes flashed with suspicion.

“To take too much in the first place is gluttony.”

Graves huffed a soft laugh. “Well, I served our plates, so.. Guilty.”

Credence watched him stub out his cigarette.

“You will want for nothing here, Credence, as I’ve said. Try not to be so hard on yourself. The rules for most of us are not so rigid as you have been led to believe, through no fault of your own.”

Credence thought this over. “I don’t know what to do.” He told him finally, wrung out and wary behind the eyes.

“What to do….when, Credence?” Graves attempted to clarify. Credence bit his lip, his shrug more a tic than a gesture.

“I…I just want to be _good_.”

Grave’s heart tugged painfully at the soft tumble of words- like a prayer, exasperated and lost.

“And I don’t even know _how._ ”

 _All the rules keep changing,_ Graves realized _. Such different things are being asked of him_.

“Come here.” He said. Credence looked up in surprise. A moment hung between them, tense and unsure, but Credence stood, his chair sliding back on the floor. He rounded the table slowly, came to stand awkwardly next to Grave’s chair. Graves took the boy’s hands where they hung loosely by his sides. They shook like leaves, and Graves wasn't fool enough to flatter himself into thinking it was anything but fear that made them tremble.

“Why do you think you aren’t good, Credence? Who decides that?” He asked softly.

Credence’s head dipped to the side, his eyes looked bright, maybe with the first sting of tears.

“I don’t know anymore, Mr Graves.”

“Will you let me be the judge?”

“Of…of if I’m good?”

Graves nodded. Credence thought for a moment, perhaps less out of his depth than Graves was himself. Graves felt the boy’s hands twitch in his, his fingers curling open to grip Grave’s hands back, returning the touch.

“Yes.” He said. The brightness of his eyes turned liquid, fell in twin drops.

“Good.” Graves disentangled his right hand from Credence’s and reached to thumb away the wetness that streaked elegant cheekbones. At the gentle swipe of his thumb the boy’s eyes closed and his mouth opened in a hitch of breath.

“Good boy.” Graves said, finding his voice a little rough, a little tight.

Credence squeezed his eyes shut tighter, his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“Is that alright?”

Credence nodded but didn’t open his eyes. Graves wanted to tell him that he would guide him, with as gentle or firm a hand as he needed, but he didn’t want to scare him, wanted him to feel free and whole.

As if they were sharing the thought, Credence whispered, “Tell me what to do? How… how to be good?”

Graves understood- Credence needed a liferaft, something real, not just a light on a distant shoreline.

“Alright,” Graves said, half in agreement half soothing.

“I understand, Credence. I do.”

Still, even after that admission, he was surprised when Credence’s weight slid into his lap.

The boy’s arms went around his neck and he tucked his head against Grave’s shoulder, hair soft and coal-dark. This was a first. Graves put his arms around Credence, let one hand rest on the back of his head. He soaked in the sensations of holding the boy, his textures and warmth, the weight of him on his lap and against his chest.

“S’alright.” He petted Credence’s hair, couldn't remember a time he had touched anything with such tenderness in his heart. 

“You’re perfect, Credence. You're right where you need to be.”

Grave’s felt Credence nuzzle into his shirt collar, making himself small as possible to gain the most contact. Still, his long legs spilled sideways over Grave’s lap and onto the floor. At his full height, he was as tall as Graves, just slighter. It was endearing to have him folded so in his lap. Graves held him closer.

“My good boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> yall WHY am i so obsessed with foodissues!credence and credence in grave's lap
> 
> [ say hi on tumblr for sure ](http://bastardgirls.tumblr.com/)


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